


Towards the Manor of Sleep

by TheCrimsonValley



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Zero | Project Zero | Fatal Frame (Video Games)
Genre: ...Maybe it's because of ghosts? Maybe it's because GHOSTS EVERYWHERE?!, Angst, Angst and Feels, Crossover, Feels, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonValley/pseuds/TheCrimsonValley
Summary: Abruptly. This is how Albert learned of Arthur's passing. As he grieves the loss of the man who was so kind to him and helped him take some of the most beautiful pictures in existence, his mind seems to descend further and further into guilt during sleepless nights. One night, he wakes up in a snowy forest, his eyes deceiving him when seeing a familiar silhouette... Unless?
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pitch for a possible several chapter fic (That would, among other things, involve other characters such as John).  
> If you are interested in reading that, I would really enjoy your opinion or just a kudos on the fic: it would be a rather massive commitment and it is always nice for an author to know there are people out there enjoying it :D  
> The setting will be the Manor of Sleep (PZ3/FF3) but none of the main leads will appear, for time line reasons.

” _You need some rest my friend, you look quite awful._ ” 

Those had been the words of the gallery owner, along with the obligatory pat on the shoulder. A small gesture that meant nothing in the long run yet kept up the appearance of human kindness. Only for a second had Albert found himself tempted to tell exactly where the well dressed gentleman could shove his concerns.

The mere act of removing his shoes and clothes seemed like a tedious chore, his eyes longingly glancing at the bed yet feeling the swelling disgust that nights had started to bring. His eyes were puffy and surrounded by dark circles. Sleep. He needed to sleep more than anything else yet it seemed to be the one thing that slipped between his fingers. Had he ever had a muse, it had been replaced by the longing for rest and along with it came the distastes for the restlessness that it would bring. 

Slumping down onto the mattress, he made a half hearted attempt to get cosy. It was in vain but he had to hold on to a shred of his own humanity. The blanket that felt like a comforting embrace would give the sensation of strangulation once he would awaken and his back would be screeching with pain as if he had slept on the floor itself. Yet despite it all, Albert tried to close his eyes.

For once the streets outside laid barren, the heavy rainfall seeing to that. It was the season, the ever changing seasons that would bring nothing but fog, humidity and more damned rain. Once he had found it soothing and in his youth he had watched it slide down the window panes with a mesmerised gaze. By now however it seemed to be so intently tied to his own miserable state.

He had never been a man for drinks, not in the sense that most of the city seemed to be at least but his desperation had driven him to at least entertain the thought. Perhaps some of that sweet wine or the bitter whiskey would be able to dull his senses and lull him right into rest before the thoughts could catch up.

Turning over onto his side, his eyes locked onto the window. Through the heavy clouds there were still the dampened moonlight that shone straight into his chamber. There were no energy to move up and pull the curtains, instead he simply accepted his fate under the realization it would make little difference. Drawing heavy breaths, he once more felt the drifting of his mind and with a heaping sigh he accepted that there would be no escaping the same trail of thoughts this night either.

Arthur Morgan was dead. Those four little words kept spinning into a horrible blurry tango, constantly in the back of his mind and stinging in the corner of his eyes. Arthur Morgan was dead and he had walked around in a strange bliss, unknowing of this up until a few weeks ago.

Naturally he were no fool, he had understood that something must have occupied him. Despite how he had denied it, Arthur had dropped in every now and then under the pretence of “ _checking if you're still alive and not in the belly of some beast_ ”. It was all just pretext, Albert knew it or perhaps it was just wishful thinking from his side? 

Closing his eyes his thoughts pushed further, trying to remember the day the news had been delivered. There would never be a clear image in his mind, the shock had forever blurred out the lines and rendered the memory more like a horrid dream. He had simply exhibited some of the images and stumbled upon a couple seemingly in despair due to them. It had all seemed off, sending shivers down his spine yet his manners had won. Upon inquiring about the reason for such an explosion of emotions he had been delivered the news.

The dark haired man by the woman's side had been blunt. No eye contact, hat tugged down. A large stone had formed in his belly, weighing the same as the world, his throat stiff and cramped. Even if he had wished to leap into denial, he had not managed any such words. Simply excused himself without name exchanges.

Feeling the numbness of sleep deprivation continuing to seep through him, Albert drew another deep breath. Everything afterwards seemed to just melt together, a mess of trying to continue yet remaining stuck, as it trudging through the thickest of swamps. Arthur Morgan was dead and he had stood by. How many times had the man been at his aid and how little had he ever given back?

Slowly he drifted further and further into sleep, his only companion's the soft rainfall and the thought spiral that slowly drilled its way deeper and deeper into his mind.

~~~

A sensation of cold seeped into the very core of his being. Despite his desire to continue his rest, Albert forced his eyes open. For a brief second the world was nothing but a blur yet he was soon made aware of what caused his chilled state. Snow. A soft layer of it had claimed the ground around him, hanging heavy from the naked tree branches high above.

Turning about he could feel his movements almost restricted, as if the air around him was fighting back. Far in the distances he was certain he could hear the flow of water reminding him of the heavy streams of the high mountains. Around him laid nothing but woodland hurled in darkness, no path visible to his eyes.

Then there came a light through the forest, moving between the tress at a slow phase. Soon it became joined up by others and as Albert stood there, frozen in both amazement and the fear of the unknown a large collection of individuals became visible. In some of their hands rested lanterns whose glass seemed to have been coloured in gentle blue hues. Their garments drew to his mind the various paintings and pictures he had observed in galleries and museums.

Soon enough they were so close he could almost feel their heat yet no matter his attempts he could not get a glimpse of their faces, their heads quickly turning upon him trying. As they brushed past a sensation of grief rushed through him. Some of them were sobbing loudly, others murmuring in a tongue that he could not possibly phantom. Still observing, he soon set eyes onto bodies, tightly wrapped in fabric, carried with the same softness that a mother would cradle their newborn.

“Where are you all going?” 

Albert barley recognized his own voice yet the need to speak had grown too large. Fright had clawed its way right into his heart and nested itself there yet there came no response. Turning once more he was met with the silhouette of an enormous manor at the end of the woodland. By now he could no longer recall if it had always been there, only obscured in darkness, or if his mind was playing tricks on him. Silently, to himself, he came to think that it mattered very little in the moment.

As he were about to speak up once more, something caught his attention. It was only a glimpse, had he blinked he would have missed it yet now his eyes became fixated onto an all too familiar figure. For a few seconds he could do little more than observe, his mouth gaping in amazement as the broad shouldered man walked at the edge of the gathered people, standing high above most of their heights.

“Mr Morgan?” 

The name came out as little more than a whisper yet he felt certain that the figure stopped, only for a second before continuing to march forward among the others. Taking a step forward, Albert felt his eyes swelling once again with tears.

“Mr Morgan?” he repeated. 

His heart started hammering, the figure almost out of sight by now, causing his feet to start moving almost on their own accord. While at first being careful, sliding between the faceless mourners, Albert soon started to shove his way through them, his hands roughly pushing them to the side.

“Arthur!” 

This time his voice carried him all the way, coming out as a shout as he quickened his steps. By now the all so familiar figure had reached the staircase and the grand doors. The mere view of them caused a wave of dread to wash over his heart. If those doors closed, he knew, he just knew, that it would be too late. The words unspoken would never be uttered, he would never get another chance.

With his breath in his throat, Albert felt himself stumbling a tad on the snowy stony path before him. Through the tears he could see the man he was following with such desperation had stopped right inside of the corridor. By instinct Albert tried to seek for those gentle eyes that seemed to be hidden in the shadow of the hat's brim.

“Please, Arthur, I-” Albert stuttered as he climbed the first step “I need to tell you something.” 

Once more, the silhouette of his friend turned and continued his slow walk into the darkness that laid beyond the doors. For just a few seconds he hesitated, as if his thoughts were trying to cut through the sensation of desperation.

Abandoning it all, Albert climbed the final step before rushing into the corridor, engulfing himself in the darkness beyond and barely hearing the heavy doors closing behind him.


	2. Towards the Manor of Sleep: John Night I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John Marston, you go back there and apologise". These are the stern words from Abigail as she sends her husband to apologise for his rude delivery of the news about Arthur Morgan's death. When meeting Albert Mason once more, John is soon informed that the man seems to suffer night terrors due to the event. As if by correlation, the next night John himself have vivid visions of a manor covered by snow...

”John Marston, you have the manners of a billygoat!”

It had been a sentiment that he could agree to but as the thought crossed his mind, John found himself frowning. Abigail had never been one to go easy on him, for his own good most of the time he admitted. Lacked the feminine touch some would perhaps say. Got the job done just not in a delicate matter.

Perhaps he had once more been the fool for letting his tongue slip too quickly. The events of that day had been far too strange not to share around the table yet it had caused him nothing but grief. Was it really his fault that Tilly had decided to drag him into that gallery? Or that the meek photographer had known Arthur? Or rushed off like that? No matter how he had tried to wiggle his way out, his beloved wife had had none of it.

“You go back there and apologize, first thing tomorrow!”

She had certainly had kinder parting words for him but these where the ones he had to carry along this time. Somewhere he amused the thought of, quite sourly, retelling what a wild goose chase she had set him onto. First to the gallery and even getting to meet the director of the building only to have to try and sweet talk him into handing over the photographer's address and, on top of that, getting the rather sullen line of how he could perhaps “kick him back into gear”, a statement he had wasted no time on.

Climbing the stairs, John tried to rehearse inside of his head on what to say. Apologise? Well that was what Abigail had demanded but she had not included any instructions for him on exactly how. “Beg pardon for the news?” “Deepest apologies for the rude awakening?” “Pains me to welcome you to the harshness of life?”

With a low curse he reached the right door. Giving the back of his neck a light rub, he soon gave the wood a knock. He would have to shoot from the hip, something that worked surprisingly well with a gun but not so much with words. Thankfully he would not have to suffer the embarrassment of arriving with his beloved, the mere thought of her standing over his shoulder and watching him stumbling his way throughout an apology was agonising.

A long silence greeted him and, weighing on his feet he soon gave a secondary knock. The rather pompous gallery owner had made sure to inform him, despite his own wishes, that Mr Mason had not been as active as an artist ought to be. Cooped up in his room, that had been the line.

The sound of steps brought some relief, the thought of rushing about more than necessary didn't appeal to him for the time being. Catching himself in the act of committing another rudeness, John quickly moved his hands up to tug his hat off, despite how it made him feel more like a sheepish city dweller than anything else.

As the door opened, his words seemed to die out before they even left his lips. Back that day in the gallery Mr Mason had appeared bright eyed and vivid, almost with the same energy of a butterfly that remained completely unaware of its fragility. The man standing before him however looked a far cry from it. Heavy circles laid around his eyes and his once rosy cheeks now appeared almost sunken in. Despite all of this, John thought he could detect a hint of a smile.

“Mr Mason” he said, trying to straighten his back a tad “beg pardon for interrupting you this early in the day.”

“That is quite alright, please, come inside.”

Being let inside, John took a gander around the room. It was quite sizeable, at least for a man doing the entire artist act. Or perhaps he just didn't know enough about them? A desk stood shoved into a corner right next to a bookcase that seemed to overflow with literature. Seeing this, he could not stop the thought of how Jack would have been giddy at the mere prospect of taking a gander at those pages.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Mr Mason walk over towards the small cooking area. His movements seemed slow and quivering, as had he been a child who made their first attempts at longer gestures. Deciding not to stay too idle, John moved up towards the small window. He throw a look towards the bed, seeing the covers half on the floor. On the bedside table laid a notebook spread open and he thought he could see small drawings, not unlike his own yet basic privacy forced him not to move closer.

“Would you like milk in your coffee Mr...”

The long pause following cued him in on the fact that he had never fully introduced himself. Turning around, his fingers still fidgeting with the brim of his hat, John gave a light nod.

“Marston, John Marston and no thank you.”

Mr Mason nodded and with shuffling steps he moved over towards the bed once more, putting down two sizeable cups onto the bedside table. In doing so, he also threw the notebook onto the bed in a rather careless gesture.

“You have to pardon my state Mr Marston” he mumbled “I'm afraid I'm not quite myself.”

A general hum were all what John could think up as an answer. There were some lines he had thought yet not uttered and none of them would bring any comfort towards the other man none the less. He did look awful and it seemed he was more than aware of that fact.

“I won't take much of your time Mr Mason” John muttered as he reached for one of the coffee cups.

“Albert is fine.”

“... Alright then, Albert, I'm just here to... see how you were coping.”

The overwhelming sensation of wishing to bury himself under a rock brought the taste of bile into his mouth, which he quickly drowned out by downing half his mug. See how you where coping? As if Arthur had been his beloved spouse for over 40 years. A smooth talker he was not.

“...I thank you kindly for the thought...”

Albert's eyes seemed vacant as he held his cup between his fingers. The thought crossed John's mind that he looked like he had lost a little piece of his own soul. Through his life he had been exposed to more than one person that had looked just the same: downtrodden, empty. Almost a husk of what a human being was supposed to be.

“You look like you need some rest Albert” John said on a tone he wished to be sympathetic.

“I've been sleeping a lot lately.”

It certainly was not the answer that he had expected yet he did not stop the other man from speaking. A small part of his mind told him to excuse himself, put his hat back on and leave, he had done what he was sent for yet something tugged at his heart strings.

“I can't make heads or tales of it” Albert murmured as his fingers gave the notebook a gentle stroke “I've been having so many dreams lately but they seem so real...”

John did not answer, he simply took another sip of his coffee, neither protesting nor encouraging the other man's speech.

“It's the same place... night after night... and I just have the feeling that he...”

Quickly Albert's eyes seemed to grow glossy, his words stopping as he turned his gaze towards the window. Though he tried his best to ignore it, John felt fairly certain that he heard the other man stifling a sob as he stroked with the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Beg pardon Mr Marston...”

“John.”

“Oh, of course, John” Albert whispered “As I've told you, I'm not quite myself, I don't think I've been since...”

The other man did not finish his sentence, instead gently gesticulating with his free hand. They didn't need to speak of it, they both knew. Since the day the news had been delivered, what other date could there possibly be?

“There was so much I needed to tell him” Albert continued as he set his eyes onto John, the corner of them swelling with tears “So much I was supposed to do for him... and now he's gone.”

~~~

Darkness engulfed him and he could do nothing but despise it. He was freezing to the core yet did not wish to open his eyes. Sleep. He needed so much damned sleep. The day had been nothing but taxing and he wanted was to get some bloody rest. Despite all of these thoughts, John forced his eyes open.

It was snowing, heavily. The white layer that clung onto the trees and the path before him was a telling sign that this had been ongoing for quite a while. Taking a step forward, he cursed. Dreams of the snow? “Figures” he thought to himself. He had stayed too long with Albert, listened to intently of his vivid descriptions of his dreams of the forest and the snow and the manor.

The more you hear something, the more you might start believe in it. Was those Dutch's or Hosea's words? Did it even matter? It surely had not mattered back then and he could not pin point if it did now either. With a sigh he continued forward, braving through the darkness that laid ahead.

Over in the distance he thought he could hear what sounded like a song. A gentle melody sung in a tongue he could not understand. For each step his mind seemed to seep with a dread he could not even put into words. For a short moment he thought to himself that it felt like walking, with open arms, towards the ledge of a mountain.

Before he could continue his trail of thoughts, John froze in his steps. Through the woods he observed a figure that seemed to almost give off a light glow, illuminating the ground around them. Despite how his mind tried to make heads or tails of it, all he could concentrate on was the familiarity of the shape.

“Arthur!”

He ignored all the signs, his body quivering, the cold sweat dripping down his forehead, his heartbeat quicker than that of a rabbit caught in a trap. Dashing forward, his breath soon felt almost stuck in his throat, as if he had been running for days on end yet no matter how he quickened the phase it still felt as if the other man was much too far ahead.

“Stop!”

Before him he could see the silhouette of a massive manor, the architecture foreign to his eyes. Desperation started to claim his thoughts as he observed how Arthur stepped onto the staircase and pushed open the massive double doors. Darkness laid inside, the deep cursed darkness that would soon swallow him whole. He would be gone forever and John knew, he just knew, that he would be left behind again.

“Arthur! You bastard! Don't leave!”

Cursing did nothing as he stumbled, slipping onto the ground, his face scratched along the snow covered stones. The feeling of blood dripping from his nose did little to discourage him as he dragged himself up onto his feet, continuing his mad dash for the doors.

Darkness once more swallowed him whole as he took the first step in, rendering him blind. All John could hear was his own quick breath, his heart beating so heavy that the fear struck him of how his body would give out under him. No matter where he turned, all that met him where nothing but a black void.

As a sharp light pierced through it, he gave an aggravated grunt yet found himself unable to lift his hand to shield his eyes. While still trying in pure desperation to gather his bearings, he turned his head to the side, hoping to puzzle together his surroundings. It turned out to be a very vain effort, there where nothing beyond the light that shone down upon him. Gazing back up was futile as well, the sky above just consisting of a blinding light.

Once more he tried to move his arms, finding them unresponsive. The fingers would obey yet lifting anything was a task too great for him to go through with. Looking down at his feet, he was struck by the fact that he was covered in nothing but a heavy piece of fabric, his hands and feet exposed to the chilling air that surrounded him.

Before the thought to shout for aid flew through his head, he saw movement in the darkness. A small glimmer of hope fluttered inside of his heart yet, as the figure became visible, he was once more grabbed by the sensation of dread. It was unexplainable, primal terror that made his breath rapid once more.

Stepping out into the light where four young girls, their eyes obscured by their long hair, their faces unknown. It was, however, not any of those things that John came to focus on. No, it was instead the sizeable hammers resting in one of their hands. In the other where a large stakes, the size of which caused a shiver of fear to run through him.

“... What the hell is going on?...”

His voice came out hoarse and frustration only grew as no one replied. Trying once more to move, it resulted in nothing but a desperate wiggle. By now the girls had reached his side and in synchronisation, they kneeled down by him.

“Answer me damn it!” John cried, his breath stuck in his throat “you little brats, answer me!”

No such wish where granted and, as the girls raised the stakes, placing their tips down onto his wrists and ankles, he had the feeling his heart was about to give out under the intense fear riding his body. With an almost primeval screech he tried to once more move, his body refusing to obey his commands. Trashing his head to the side, John set eyes onto the familiar figure once more, hurled in the darkness beyond where he was laying.

“Arthur! Help me!”

The man did not even turn his head. Feeling the tips of the stakes now laying heavily onto his skin, John's eyes swelled with tears, blurring his vision.

“Arthur, don't... don't let them do this!”

His shouts were in vain and his breath seized in his throat as he watched the girls, as if on command, raise their hammers high above their heads.

~~~

John Marston awoke with a scream that, for weeks, his wife would describe as being loud enough to raise the dead.


	3. Towards the Manor of Sleep: Albert Night II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert keeps being plagued by nightmares. Keeping barely awake in the day, he is once again visited by John. Realising they are both dreaming of the exact same eastern mansion, they talk, coming to terms there's a reason to why... they are mourning the very same person.  
> As another night comes, Albert wakes up in the mansion once again, feeling he's closer and closer to finding Arthur. Who he encounters however is far from being a familiar face.

This was idiotic. In fact it was more than idiotic, it was the act of a completely deranged lunatic. One who had bought into his own ravings after a few nights of bad sleep. A madman who was chasing answers in the shadows, looking for meaning where there would be none to be found.  
  
John had kept telling himself that the entire ride yet he had not once stopped and even contemplated to turn around. A small part of him screeched for comfort. Any rational explanation for his state of mind and as things would seem, the photographer would be the only one to give them to him. The morning before he had almost caved and told Abigail yet something had held him back. Marital bliss had just about set in and though his nightly tossing and turning was getting on her nerves, he could tell she was not fed up with him, not yet. If he started some mad raving about night terrors and Arthur, he dreaded where it would all lead.  
  
The apartment building slowly fading forward through the thick fog sent over him a sensation that was almost strong enough to knock him out of the saddle. A bittersweet mix between utter dread and hope. As he got off the horseback, he cursed under his breath. He had always been a man run by his emotions but this, this was something else. Though he refused to use the words it was always at the back of his tongue. “Supernatural”. “Out of this world”.  
  
Climbing the stairs, John rubbed the back of his neck. The muscles felt stiff under his fingers, twitching at the rough touch of his hand. Sleep. He longed for sleep more than he had ever done before in his mortal life. Yet he dreaded it with the same passion a small child would. For the past days he had taken to staying up longer than anyone else around the farm, doing whatever he could get his hand on. Chopping firewood, checking the animals, making sure there was not one nail amiss in the fences. No matter how he had worked himself into exhaustion, it never seemed to deprive him of the dreams.  
  
Finally reaching the door, he gave it a heavy knock. He had no script in his mind, no rehearsed scenario of what to tell the other man. Throughout the week that had passed since the dreams started, he had worked through a flurry of emotions. Anger, dread, sadness, pure desperation. Each one presented a different scene yet he could not work out which one would be the most desirable.  
  
The light click of the lock made his thoughts alert once more. Slowly the door creaked open, just allowing a small crack. Without a word, John stared in at the person on the other side, seeing the dim glow in the other man's eyes. A sigh left Albert's lips and soon the door was opened fully.  
  
John found himself slightly taken aback as he stepped inside. Over the windows the curtains hung heavy, a thin layer of dust telling that they had not been moved for quite some time. Sprawled onto the working desk was several notes and small drawings, all scribbled with a shaking hand. It looked like the other man had done nothing to improve the state of his living space since he had last set foot in there.  
  
“I'll put the kettle on.”  
  
Albert's voice lacked any notion of energy. It came out slow and monotone, almost as if he had been running on a manuscript. John said nothing, only nodding as his eyes followed the other man's movement. Clunky. Fingers fidgeting, quaking at the simple act of lifting an empty kettle, eyes blinking more than usual while being obscured by dark and heavy eyelids.  
  
“No offence Mr Mason but you look like shit.”  
  
His words came out before he could fully realise what he was saying. It was a blessing and a curse, mostly the latter rather than the former. This time he cared little about it, he was far too exhausted for any form of etiquette. Much to his surprise the other man gave a light laughter while moving the kettle over towards the stove.  
  
“It's funny John” Albert answered “you're not the first one to tell me that.”  
  
“I believe it, if ya showed up looking like that around any gallery they would have people fainting left, right and centre.”  
  
“Thankfully I have not graced them with my presence.”  
  
Silence overtook them both as the water came to a boil. It soothed John's mind as much as it irritated him. A pot of coffee. Damn, it was something so calming and normal. An everyday occurrence. Yet here, in this room that felt so stuffed with anxiety and sorrow, the happy bubbling felt more mocking than welcoming. With a grunt he rubbed over his own eyes. He was overthinking it.  
  
“When was the last time you went outside Albert?”  
  
He watched the other man freeze up for a second, his eyes becoming vacant. For a short moment it seemed he was going a thousand miles away before being violently shoved back into his own mind once more. A meek little smile came over the photographers lips.  
  
“About a week now I believe.”  
  
“... hell you need some sunlight...”  
  
While talking John moved towards the window. He felt unsure as to why he even cared. It was not that he had a hard time doing so, it was more the action of showing it that pained him. As his fingers dug into the curtain, feeling the dust seep between them, he tried to rationalise it. Perhaps there was a small part of him that still felt guilty over the fact he had caused the other man such grief. Or, he thought, it was more likely their common link was the answer.  
  
Arthur. Albert had known Arthur. Had cared for him a great deal too, that he could tell. It had been one of those deep emotions, the kind that people like Dutch, Hosea or Josiah had yapped on about for hours on end. Those feelings what not what caught John's mind however, that he could at least tell himself. It was the notion that someone else had known Arthur such as he had, someone that could still speak fondly of him.  
  
The light pierced his eyes as he tugged the curtain back, the dramatic gesture leaving him coughing as the dust danced in the air. Not to be deterred, he grasped the window, forcing it open quickly and far too violently, causing it to swing wildly open. The air outside was stagnant and heavy with mist yet it did bring a small sense of relief, allowing the stuffy air from indoors to be exchanged. Behind him, he could hear how Albert drew a long and shaky breath.  
  
“Why are you here John?”  
  
Albert's question was asked on a timid voice yet it made his hair stand on edge. For a second, passing so quickly he barley caught on, John got the sensation of dream once more. He knew. He was certain of it. The other man already knew the answer, the question was little more than a way to make the conversation “normal” between them. Feeling his knuckles tighten around the windowsill, he drew a long breath, trying to rationalize. Of course there was no way that Albert could know.  
  
“Checking you were alive.”  
  
“That's awful kind of you”  
  
In the corner of his eye, John could see Albert moving, pouring up coffee into mugs before approaching. No matter how he tried to still his heart, the beating just increased. It was a horrid sensation and one he had grown far too accustomed to. Every night he would wake up it would be there to greet him. Even within those dreams he would feel it. As if they were as real as anything else around him.  
  
“John?”  
  
For a short moment, the voice of the other man took a spin. Sinking. Becoming blessed with an almost gravel like tone. The fingers reaching out feeling bigger, stronger, rougher, friendlier. During the briefest of instance, John felt his heart swelling with relief. It was only as he was just about to reach back out that his mind was thrust into reality once more. It was Albert before him, his soft eyes swelling with worry. It wasn't who he had thought it were.  
  
“... damn it all..” John growled, turning his head quickly towards the foggy landscape that laid beyond.  
  
“Something is weighing on you.”  
  
“Yes there is” he answered, quicker than he could come up with any words of denial “and I've got you to thank for it.”  
  
Albert took a meek step back, alerting him to the fact he had raised his voice far beyond what was needed. Intently staring out the window, John dug his fingers into the cup.  
  
“It's all yer blabbering of those dreams, they ain't good for your head and ain't good for mine either!”  
  
“You've been having these dreams too?”  
  
Too good for a guess. Those were the only words he could come up with as he turned his gaze towards the other man. In silence he observed how Albert moved over towards his working space, taking a seat onto the chair and letting the mug rest on top of the various notes. His entire being emitted a sense of defeat, like a sea captain knowing full well the ship is going down, crew and all.  
  
“... I know I should not have entered that place...”  
  
Albert's voice came out as little more than a whisper, his fingers sliding over one of the papers. Stepping just a tad closer, John could make out that they all seemed to portray a setting so familiar his bodies fight or flight response had to be fought back. The large doors, the stairs. The manor deep within the woods.  
  
“But I'm so close...” Albert murmured “I can feel that he's in there, waiting for me...”  
  
“Arthur's dead.”  
  
Those words cut deep, for both of them. John knew this yet it was his only defence against the madness that was unfolding around him. He could see the hurt reflecting in Albert's eyes, telling of a pain greater than any bullet or blade could ever deliver.  
  
“I know John.. I think that's why I see him.”  
  
“Start making sense damn it.”  
  
Had this been any other situation, he knew he would have punched the other man across the face. He could not fully tell if it was because he lacked the energy to do so or if he had matured enough to know it would solve nothing. Perhaps it was a wonderful mix of both. As Albert made a soft motion, beckoning him forward, he followed, no matter how the small rationality he had been blessed with at birth told him to deflect anything the other man would say.  
  
As soon as he stepped within range, a leather bound journal was placed into his hands. Lifting an eyebrow in surprise, John sought the gaze of Albert before lowering his eyes onto the pages. Sprawled onto them was an array of drawings and writing, a collection of sort, hand made with the care of a mad genius.  
  
“I believe it is called the Manor of sleep” Albert said as his eyes were once more grasped by a haze “.. I knew it sounded familiar but I could not tell from where I had ever heard it before.”  
  
“Keep talking” John muttered, flipping another of the pages.  
  
“Long ago there was a little gathering of photographers... well to be honest back then we were all amateurs who just so happen to have the capital to engage in our hobby” the other man continued “there was this traveller from the far east, polite, well spoken but burdened by something, very interested in spirits and the beyond... I'll admit that most of the people gathered that day heckled him behind his back.”  
  
His fingers slid along one of the pages as he hummed. It was a simple sign yet one he could only hope would keep Albert's trail of thoughts going. Just by looking at the other man he knew that it would only be a matter of time before sleep would overtake him once more.  
  
“... I entertained his thoughts for a while with another friend... he spoke of some “dream disease”... brought on by intense grief.”  
  
“So you believe we got cursed by some mystic from the east?”  
  
“I don't know what I believe” Albert answered “perhaps? I can't explain this rationally any more.”  
  
As the other man turned, their eyes met, rendering them both silent. It was a glance full of grief and disbelief, a mixture of the horrid sensation that seemed to suffocate the very air around them.  
  
“If you're dreaming John... then I dearly hope, for the both of us, that we'll find a way to make them end.”

~~~

They were both dreaming. Both walking the same halls, drawn deeper and deeper inside, every so often catching the glimpse of what they were both seeking. As he had moved into bed, Albert had wished this thought would carry over into his dreams, comforting him. Now he found it brought with it nothing but an even higher sense of isolation. Even if they were both dreaming, he was completely alone.  
  
John had shared precious little information and his own mind had boggled heavily under the exhaustion. What he had won out confirmed his own unbelievable theory however. The manor was exactly the same. He had never spoken of its interior, not that he could recall at least. Impossible. Any rational part of his mind told him that this was little more than his own grief rubbing onto the other man yet, for the past days, he had learnt to accept the absurd logic of this predicament.  
  
Moving through the empty hallways, he could not shake the image in his mind of John walking the same path. What kept them separate he did not know. It had been a foolish thought, the hope of a madman, that he would find company within the manors walls. His journey, it seemed, would be one of utter solitude.  
  
Rounding one of the corners, a large room opened up before him. Had it been any other time he would have been infatuated with the architectural structures. The high ceilings stretched above him, the beams creaking as if moved by an unheard wind. In one of the corners stood a square “room” only closed off by delicate paper walls. Drawing closer, Albert could not help but to get overwhelmed by the thought that he was not alone. Every so often he was certain he could hear voices, low murmurs in a tongue foreign to him.  
  
With quivering fingers he lodged them into the small round holes in the door, tugging to try and open them up. Despite their fragile nature, his effort was in vain, the door refusing to part. Uttering a sigh, his ears picked up on what he assumed to be speech. Perhaps it was singing or prayers? Something about them reminded him of the masses held by the immigrants from Italy. Leaning in closer, he tried to gather what courage he had left.  
  
“Hello?” he uttered, realising his speech was nothing but a whisper “is there anyone in there?”  
  
The silence only lasted for a minute before the speech started once more, no acknowledging of his interruption. Though his legs told him to move, Albert once more gave the door a knock. As he did he was grasped by the amazement at how sturdy the material felt. From a glance he had gathered that he could easily break it apart with his fingers but it would seem he had misjudged the workmanship quite a bit.  
  
“Please... open up.”  
  
This time there was not even a break in the chatter on the other side. Whatever it was they were speaking of, if there was truly anyone in there, it was more important than his begging. Pathetic. As the word crossed his mind, it gave him the same uncomfortable sensation as a punch in the gut. He was truly alone, not even worth the acknowledgement of his own cursed dreams.  
  
Feeling his eyes swelling with tears, he quickly spun around to start his walk once more. Doing so made him stop dead in his tracks however, his eyes trailing over towards the side. There was a short drop down, no more than half a step, a most curious interior choice. It was, however, not what had caught his gaze. Standing before one of the walls was a small girl. Her brown eyes seemed to study him from top to toe and he could do little but answer in kind. The clothing attire was peculiar, the red skirt standing out against the bleak environment, her dark hair braided to perfection, not a hair strain misplaced.  
  
“...What's your name?...”  
  
It was the first question he could even muster and it was not a particularly clever one. All the answers he wanted and this was the only thing he could muster up? Her presence made him able to choke back any further angry and self pitying remarks.  
  
As her lips parted, all that came out was words in a language he would not even dare to pinpoint the origin of. Albert felt his shoulders slumping. Was she understanding what he meant? Was the long string of words her answer? Was it a question posed to him? His heartbeat steadily increased with each panicked question that graced his mind, all while trying to grasp for any solution to this predicament. It was someone sentient, it was someone capable of speech, he could not let it all go to waste.  
  
“I don't understand you” he stuttered “I'm... I'm Albert Mason, I'm looking for... for my friend, have you seen him?”  
  
At first he was not certain she had even understood, even doubting she had heard his words. Perhaps, he thought to himself, she was some fickle trick of his mind, aimed to hurt him further. But then she raised her hand, the movement soft to the point that he felt mesmerised by it. It only lasted for a second as it once more came to a halt, pointing towards the wooden panels leaping along the lower part of the wall.  
  
“... What?...”  
  
Before he could gather himself enough for a second question, he picked up on another noise. Footsteps. Large and heavy and approaching fast. Turning, his movement unnaturally slow, he felt his hand grasped by the tiny fingers of the girl. As she tugged at his arm, beckoning him towards her, he still managed to see one of the doors further away open.  
  
Time came to a crawl, almost halting as he watched the body of a stranger slump in through the doorway. The frame bore large crimson stains, the man on the floor now heaving and gurgling, twitching in a manner out of this world. Towering behind him was the shape of another person whose face remained hidden behind a veil, a hatchet resting firmly grasped in their hand.  
  
Finally his fight or flight kicked in. Spinning about once more, Albert watched the small child sinking to her knees, pushing the panel away and crawling through. Had he had more time, he would have questioned if he could even fit but at the moment there was no time for being cautious. As quickly as he possibly could he did the same, digging his hands into the cold floor as he tried to slide through the opening.  
  
Just about as the panel was to close, he felt something grasping onto his ankle. Shooting his arms out, he firmly grasped one of the foundation pillars, clinging onto it for dear life as he felt whoever this stranger was trying to drag him back out again. It was only after a few skips of his heartbeat he realized that he was screeching like a banshee.  
  
“Let me go! Leave me alone!”  
  
He had not expected a response and he was given none yet he kept struggling. No matter the sensation of hopelessness that had been his companion for the days since these dreams had started, he was not ready. He couldn't die here. Not in this cursed dream. Not when he was so close. He knew he was close, he just needed to push a tad further. With a scream from the bottom of his soul, he tried to give the hand grasping his ankle a few good kicks. The stranger was shouting at him but whatever insults was hurled his way, he could not even understand them.  
  
For a short moment, passing in the blink of an eye, he thought he heard something familiar. A voice. The kindest voice that had ever spoken to him yet now it came out in a shout. His mind was grasped by pure relief as he felt his ankle being let go, the panel slamming shut behind him.  
  
Stillness. Not a footstep or a word to be heard. Finally his arms let go of the pillar that he had held so dearly onto. Albert felt his face slump towards the cold floor, not minding the rough texture or the dirt. His heart hammered on for a minute or two, bringing along the sensation of it wishing to burst out of his chest.  
  
The soft voice of the child drew him out once more. Though his head seemed to weigh a ton, Albert lifted it to glance forward. Just a few meters ahead he could see a panel in the floor missing, down through the hole was the small pale hand of the girl that had been his rescue. Not dwelling onto the thought of what would have happened had she not shown up, he tugged his arms up once more, tugging himself forward on his elbows. The space was far too tiny for him to attempt and crawl.  
  
Reaching the opening felt as if he had reached the pearly gates themselves and with a heaping sigh of relief he tugged himself up. Laid before him was a small room, adorned with dolls made of straw that were firmly nailed to the walls. Along one of the walls stood a small altar embellished with trinkets. For the time being he paid them no mind, simply resting onto the floor for a few seconds, allowing his pulse to settle back to normal.  
  
Turning his eyes he saw the small girl standing close to his side, her eyes still studying him. Despite the fact he was certain she could not understand a word he had spoken, he gave a “thank you so much”. His voice sounded strained, telling of the toll the entire ordeal had taken on him.  
  
No matter how his muscles begged him not to, Albert managed to get up into a sitting position, arms rested towards his knees. This manor was not safe. He had already known that but now he had to be on alert. For a short moment his thoughts wandered, filling with worry for the safety of Arthur and John. He quickly reminded himself however that both these men were more capable than he himself was in defence.  
  
Once more the small child spoke, drawing his attention. With a gentle gesture she motioned for him to follow, pointing towards a small wooden door in the wall, just about big enough for him to crawl through.  
  
“You know where he is, don't you?”  
  
Albert himself could not explain why he posed this question. There was simply something in this child that filled him with this premonition. As her head bobbed in a nod, he returned the gesture, tugging up onto his feet.  
  
“...Then I'll follow...”


	4. Towards the Manor of Sleep: John Night II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day passes in which John visits Albert, only to find him looking a worse condition than before. Exhaustion plays a number onto John too and while Albert's pain gives into sadness, John's pain turns into bitterness and anger. It always has been as such. Anger, however, can be a ressource when confronting nightmares. Particularly hostile nightmares.

”Had I not known better, I would have though you were running off to a sweetheart of yours.” 

Though he had understood his wife's attempt in clearing his mood, John had been able to muster little more than a grunt. None of his trips to town had bore any fruit. They would exchange information in a fevered haze yet nothing he had been told had improved the situation. By the day it marked the second week since the dream had started. Though he had refused to confess it to anyone but himself, it had become a struggle to stay awake. Even while working he would feel the temptation to doze off, despite the knowledge that no matter how many hours of sleep he would catch, it would never make him feel rested. 

The climb up the stairs was made slowly and methodically. One step at a time. The raindrops slid down his coat and the brim of his hat, dripping onto the wood. Not even the weather was on his side. Rain for three straight days. Most certainly it was due to his sleep deprivation that the mere sound of it annoyed him. In his moody state, he had made sure to try and stay clear of anyone. 

Not that it made anything better. He knew he was one of fortune's greatest fools but even he did not need a weather vane to tell which way the wind was blowing. Abigail was catching on. Though she had made several irritated remarks on how his tossing and turning kept her awake, he had detected the worry in her eyes. She was a woman with a hard exterior but the cracks were becoming more and more visible. The questions would start very soon and John dreaded them. 

Neither him nor Albert could confirm it but his belief was set in stone. If he had started dreaming just by speaking to this man, just by hearing these words about a manor and grief and death and all that shit, then there was no reason it could not be given to her. His chest seemed to tightened as he reached the top of the stairs, causing him to grasp onto the railing for dear life. So many were his screw ups that he could no longer count them on his fingers. He could not risk it. Even if he had to succumb to whatever madness this was, he could not allow Abigail to find out the full extent of his night terrors. 

He fumbled with the knock, ending in his hand smacking towards the door. Silence followed. So long he stood there that his mind started to wonder if the other man had taken up and left. Or something worse? At the moment he reached for the door handle, he heard a meek “come in.”. He did not need to be asked again. 

Stepping into the room, he quickly set eyes onto Albert. There was no longer a point in him making any jokes about the other man's appearance, he looked awful. The dark tone around his eyes seemed permanent at this point, his cheeks sunken in and eyes vacant. His hair had grown longer and gone uncombed. The perfectly soft spoken gentleman that John had run into that fateful day was gone, leaving behind this husk in the bed. Feeling how chilly the room was, John made way towards the window, finding it widely open. Cursing under his breath he made sure to shut it, only leaving a small gap.

“It's damn cold in here” he muttered “can't you feel it?” 

“I'm sorry.” 

Apologising had become a regular habit of Albert's during their conversation but John could not help himself from thinking that this was record time for one to be uttered. Paying it no mind, he moved over towards the stove, grabbing the kettle, almost on routine. Coffee made things feel better, for a short little moment at least. While lighting the stove he threw another glance towards the bed. He pretended, to the best of his abilities, to be occupied. The thought did cross his mind: he should bring the other man to a doctor. 

“Did you eat?” 

The question felt quite unnatural as it left his lips. Not once in his life time had he been a mother hen but it was clear that Albert could do little to care for himself at this point. Seeing how he shook his head, John cursed once more, turning his attention fully to the bubbling kettle. In haste he poured the coffee into the regular cups before shuffling over to the bedside. Not standing on ceremony, he shoved the mug into the other man's hands.

“Anything new?” 

He needed to ask. There would be no answer, he knew it, at least not any that would satisfy his needs but there was a need to utter it none the less. Expecting a response, John felt his veins freezing as Albert sniffled. Large tears were running down the other man's face, dripping onto his hands and into the mug. 

“I'm so sorry” he heard the photographer murmur “I'm so terribly sorry John.” 

“Sorry ain't fixing shite, there must be something new.” 

He was clawing in all directions mentally, trying to reach out and grab what was possibly not there at all. Things couldn't just end. He refused to believe they would just end. Problems needed solutions, that was how they worked by definition. There would always be one, if one would just try hard enough. Was it Abigail who had said it? Or someone else? Shaking his head, he tried to keep his mind focused. It did not matter who said it, he just had to repeat it to himself. 

“... We should never have gone in...” Albert whispered, his voice cracking in between long sobs “...but I needed to... to apologise to him.” 

The soft frame of the other man's shoulders quivered, his fingers barely able to hold on to the mug. A mix of compassion and contempt seeped through John's mind. They were both suffering, in their own regard. A suffering they had to fight on their own every night, the only relief being speaking about it during daylight, all the while knowing it would matter little as soon as sleep overtook them. Yet, had it not been for this man blabbering about his dreams, he himself would not be in agony. The feeling of distaste brought along with it a taste of bile in the back of his throat. 

“He must be upset with me.” 

This was the first line of Albert's that made his own body go rigid. His tongue seemed to lock up but his mind still remained in high alert. By now the other man had put his mug onto the bedside table, his hands instead clasped over his face as his entire body heaped with sobs. 

“...He was abandoned... when he needed help the most he was abandoned and...” 

“Shut up.” 

John barley recognised his own voice as it left his lips. Cold, distant, quivering with the quickly building rage that rode his mind. For a short moment he saw how Albert raised his gaze from his fingers, eyelashes weighed down by tears. 

“...But I know...” 

“You don't know shite!” 

His shout echoed between the walls. As if possessed, he found himself reaching out towards the other man, firmly grasping onto his wrists and tugging them away from his face. He needed to stop the gesture. Stop the pathetic whining and crying. Moaning about guilt and apologies. He could not stand it, not for another minute. 

“He wasn't abandoned, you hear me!” John growled, digging his nails into Albert's skin “he buggered off whenever he wanted, he didn't tell anyone jack shit about his business, do you understand?” 

“...John please...” 

“I don't need to apologise for nothin'! He's the one that needs to apologise to me for all of this! He's the one that abandoned me! He's the one who pushed me way!” 

“John, it hurts!” 

First when he heard the other man's shouts, coming out in between the sobs, did his mind snap back into reality. Quickly he let go, as if Albert had been a hot stove he had just burnt his fingers onto. As soon has he freed the other man from his grip he watched him tug his wrists towards himself, large marks visible in his skins. A clear indentation of every little detail of his own fingernails. 

“... shite..” John whispered, his mind ravaged by guilt “Albert I'm...” 

The rapid increase of the other man's breath made him step in closer once more. For a split second there was fear, like that of a wounded animal, in Albert's eyes. Yet it seemed he accepted his fate, perhaps realising that he had no strength to fight back, even if he had wished to do so. Reaching out once more, John took a good and long look at his companion of misery. He was far gone, malnourished to hell and back, freezing to the touch. He had waited far too long. 

“Need to get you to a doctor.” 

He choose to ignore the apology of the other man as well as burying his own outburst deep within his own mind. Once he was alone he could beat himself up about loosing his temper. Raising to his feet, he found it much easier to pretend like nothing had happened while his brain was concentrating on a task at hand. 

As good as he could, he wrapped the other man in his blanket, holding him like anyone else would a beloved while making his way towards the door. Albert weighed far less than a man his age or size should, a fact that was more than worrying. He had waited too long indeed. 

~~~

Silence. It was a dreaded companion during his blind search. Every so often John swore he would hear voices, footsteps, even what sounded like singing. It didn't sit right with him, the sensation of things being there yet never seeing a soul, yet he would take it any day over the damned stillness. The place was too massive to be this empty and it brought with it too many memories. He had already stayed in one manor deprived of a large population with worries breathing down his neck, he did not need to be stuck in another. 

Putting his hand onto the wall, he stopped. Had he been here before? Cursing slightly he tried to remember. The entire place started to blend together, each corridor turning into nothing but a spiderweb keeping the rooms together. There was seemingly no end to it and by now he had started to loose track of what was located where. He recalled Jack once telling about some tale he had read of a man entering a labyrinth to battle some beast, leaving a string behind to find his way out once more. Giving a low snigger, John thought to himself it was a shame he had not thought of that. 

Gathering himself once more, he pushed forward. The echoes of his footsteps bounced between the walls. At times he had frightened himself into thinking someone was ahead of him or behind him. Every time it would prove to be nothing, just a trick of the mind. There was only one thing ahead of him. Only one other person walking these corridors. As the thought crossed his mind, John clenched his fists together. When he found him, he would make sure to punch him good in the face. 

Pushing open another door, a cold wind swept over him. Stepping through, he stopped, his body locked in place by a mix of astonishment and disbelief. Before him laid a large room, open to the outside. Light snow was falling in through the opening between the buildings, landing onto his face and hands. At the middle stood a massive tree, the dead branches stretching upwards towards the dark skies. Stepping forward, he took notice of the various small straw dolls that had been nailed into the tree trunk and propped up onto sticks all around it. Swaying in the wind, they took on the almost mocking appearance of small saplings. 

A shiver went down his spine and he could not tell if it was due to the cold snow or his own discomfort. It had always rubbed him the wrong way, all these supernatural things. Spirits and ancestors and rituals and what not. During daylight he had an easy enough time to elude it, giving off handed comments like “to each their own”. Nights were different however and these dreams made him even more uncomfortable. Whatever had gone on inside of this manor, he felt, was better left alone. 

As his eyes strayed from the tree, he soon set them onto a large set of doors. They looked like nothing he had seen before, basked in the faint blue light of a nearby lantern. Taking just a few steps forward, he could feel his heart trembling. It was a sensation he despised yet one that he knew came for a reason. Every time he had caught a glimpse of Arthur's back, it had been there, a mocking indication that he was heading in the right direction. This time it was stronger, so strong it brought sense of hope mixed with dread into his heart. Close. He was so damn close. 

Finally able to move, John hurried his steps over. He could not recall how many times he had heard Albert speak the words of how close he was. This was no doubt the same sensation that had gone through his own mind. Perhaps this would be it? Behind those doors... It was a foolish thought but one he clung to like life itself depended onto it. 

First when he reached his hand out to grasp the door did he hear it. Heavy steps. At first John tried to rationalise it. It was only his own that echoed against the large open walls of this room. Then it hit him, fast as a bullet. He was not moving. This realisation felt like little more than mockery as he spun around. Dreams or not, his reflexes were still as responsive as ever. 

Just a few feet behind him was a stranger whose face remained hidden behind a veil. His body was almost hunched, heaving slightly with heavy breaths. Along the light fabric of his clothing was large splatters of blood, creating morbid patterns. Clutched in his hand was a hatchet of, what John thought, comically big proportions. There came words which he had no possibility of understanding. 

He watched as the stranger approached, his muscles rigid and mind in high alert. His eyes followed as the hatchet was raised and at the moment it was to come down, John threw himself out of harms way, turning to watch how his attacker stumbled forward, struggling to gain his bearings once more. 

“You wanna tussle huh?” 

Reaching out, he grasped onto the iron structure of the lantern. Any weaponry was good and he was none too picky in a time of crisis. Grasping it firmly, he felt how he grit his teeth, a gesture he had not been able to shake since child legs. Behaving like a wild animal, that he had been told more than once. This time, it would be of good use. 

“Then bring your ugly mug over here!” 

Perhaps the other man understood him or perhaps anything would have provoked a response. Quicker than he expected, he had his attacker up close, the hatchet slamming down against the lantern's structure. The noise it made was loud enough to awaken the dead, making his ears ring yet John just gave out a loud shout of his own. Primal. That was the only word he could phantom for the feelings inside of him. Flight was never a choice, not once in his life. Fight was the only thing that would fly. 

Putting all his strength into it, he pushed back and before the stranger was able to regain his footing, he swung the lantern, putting all his weight into it. A rather sickening sound of metal meeting bone rose to the skies, a crimson stain seeping onto the veil covering the other man's face. Despite the hit being strong enough to keep most men down, he soon felt the scraping of the hatchet across his leg, alerting him to the fact he had gotten too close. 

“Damn it! What does it take to keep you down?” 

There came a response, several in fact yet none that he could understand. Mattered little in the long run. Trying to keep steady onto his legs, despite the pain seeping through the left one, John once more went in for a swing. It was nowhere near as powerful as he would have wished yet its force was enough to make him stumble forward. His body came to collision with his attackers, sending them both to the ground. 

For a short moment everything was a flurry of white fabric, bringing with it the sensation of suffocation. It took longer than he wished to admit before John realised that his airways was indeed being clasped shut, causing him to gasp for breath. One of his hands shoot up, trying to bend the other man's fingers away yet feeling how it did little but tighten the grip further. Slamming his other hand over the ground, he felt through the cloud that came over his mind, the sharp sting of metal. 

Not thinking further, he grasped it and, with what little strength he had left, he slapped it into his attacker's side. The other man uttered a loud roar, his fingers finally letting go and allowing John his much needed air. While coughing, he rolled over onto his side, trying his best to crawl away. 

It was only when he turned his head, trying to pin point the stranger once more, that he saw the man's shape escaping down one of the corridors. Droplets of blood adorned the ground, growing in size as the snow landed onto the wooden floor. In a mesmerised state, John watched them while regain his breath. Stillness once more fell over the cursed manor and this time, he welcomed it. 

Glancing down at his leg he grunted. The cut was not deep, nothing he couldn't handle but it stung like a son of a bitch. It took a few attempts before he managed to get up on his feet and even longer to remain standing somewhat comfortably. Looking over towards where his attacker had escaped, he spat onto the ground. There was no one to see it but for the sake of his own ego, he needed to show some disrespect.   
  
Turning back towards the door, he set eyes onto the now broken structure of the lamp. It was a few of these shards that had saved his life and he would not forget that. Reaching down, he made sure to pocket a couple. As he stepped forward towards the large doors, putting his hands onto them and pushing it open, he thought that this was now a situation where he was better off safe than sorry. 


	5. Towards the Manor of Sleep: Albert Night III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert is visited by John in the hospital but is found only to be asleep, his waking time becoming shorter by every day and his condition keeping to worsen.  
> Inside the manor, Albert comes to a halt. Understanding he cannot rely onto his little guide any longer, he needs to push through the last door. What lies behind it? Answers, he hopes.

Rain again. Though it had made the ride over quite miserable, John still felt happy it had not been nice enough weather for Abigail to insist on joining him. As he had gotten dressed she had given him one of those sad glances. He did not fancy them, not one bit. While she had told him her errands would have to wait until another time, he was well aware that her questions would not stop. He had never been good at excuses or lies around her and with the exhaustion growing worse by the day, sooner or later she would find out he wasn't visiting Albert's home any more. 

Shaking some of the rain off his coat he stepped up to the front door. It had been a struggle to get the doctor to agree on taking Albert on as a patient. He had almost punched the smug bastard in the face upon comments on how it was “just a case of malnutrition”. Getting the money had been another business and one he did not pay any mind to what so ever. Once this ordeal was over, he would have to settle scores with the photographer.

Pushing the door open, he made sure to tug his hat off. A simple gesture in and on itself but one that city folk seemed to appreciate. The woman behind the front desk tore her eyes from the paperwork before her as he stepped up. It was a struggle to look civilized these days he knew, specially with the look of utter fatigue that accompanied him every waking moment. 

“I'm here to visit Mr Mason” John muttered, his fingers thumbing along the brim of his hat.

He was granted a soft humming from the woman, her eyes skimming over a thick and worn leather bound book. The writing inside was impossible for someone like himself to understand but he paid it no real mind. As long as she knew what she was reading, there wasn't any point in being too picky. 

“Oh, Mr Mason? Is that correct sir?” 

“That it is.” 

“Well then, please move down the corridor and to the left, all the way down, last room on the right.” 

“Thanks ma'am”. 

As soon as he stepped away from the counter, he saw her lower her glance once more, clearly too preoccupied with other things to stand on ceremony about a visitor. Travelling down the corridor, he felt how he did his best not to appear too faced by his surroundings. Hospitals had never sat right with him. Stuffy, smelling of medication and blood. Generally topped off with the wheezing, coughing and wails of those beyond help. Those thoughts had been enough for him to feel an intense sense of guilt for dumping Albert there. He had been without a choice but it had done little to sooth his mind. 

Reaching his destination, John found himself grabbed by surprise upon moving up to the door. It stood slightly ajar and inside he could see a young woman seated onto the bed. Her uniform told him she was a worker but one that had not been there long enough to become jaded and hardened by the experience. Her eyes, half closed yet gleaming like gold, still had too much life behind them. Now, he had never been one for overly flowery descriptions but, in the faint light from the windows, she looked a tiny bit like an angel. The curls she had, despite her effort to keep it up, strands of red hair were poking out. 

Realising he had spent too long a time observing her, he cleared his throat while giving the door a knock. He waited the appropriate few seconds before stepping inside and watched her, with amusement, as she sprung up like a frightened rabbit. 

“Beg pardon Mr!” she said, her accent telling of a heritage more akin to his own “Didn't know Mr Mason would have visitors.” 

“No trouble miss” John answered, nodding for her to take a seat once more. 

“I just come here to rest my feet” she continued as she slumped down with a nervous smile “and Mr Mason doesn't mind... I think.” 

He watched how she reached out to gently stroke over Albert's hands that laid over his chest. The man looked, if possible, more pitiful than the day that he had brought him in. His skin stood out as almost unnaturally pale, the lack of sunlight becoming more apparent in the rather well lit room. John could not help his chest from tightening as he thought to himself how incredibly tiny Albert looked under the heavy blankets and among the pillows. 

“How is he?” 

It was a silly question, he himself could already tell the answer but his compulsions told him he had to ask. That was what one should do when visiting them. Even when a person was on their death bed, it seemed the custom was to ask how they were doing. 

“He's not getting any better” the young woman answered “the doctor says he doesn't know what to do with him really.” 

As if realising what she had just said, she quickly followed up with:

“What I mean by that is, the doctor's baffled you see Mr, he's not gone but he's not here, it's like he's deeply sleeping.” 

“How long?” 

“We only manage to make him stay awake an hour or two per day... and even then I wonder if he's really here.” 

For a moment she gently patted across Albert's hands before turning her eyes back towards John. By now her cheeks took on a slightly redder colour, as if she had just been hit by a realisation. 

“Where's my manners Mr, I'm Lisa Brewer” she said with a little smile “I guess you could say I'm Mr Mason's personal nurse.” 

“Personal?” 

“Well..” she answered, moving about a tad as if the question itself had been uncomfortable “Mr Mason isn't a high maintenance patient but the other nurses don't really like hanging around here much, says they got bad feelings from being in this here room... just superstition though, I've never felt anything!” 

John gave a low hum, more of an acknowledgement that she had said anything at all. Of course the thought bothered him. If he had indeed been put under this “curse” or “sickness” or whatever he was supposed to call it, simply by speaking to Albert, then perhaps exposing him to others had not been the brightest decision? Once more he had to remind himself that there had been no choice. He couldn't well bring Albert home, that was far too risky and he couldn't leave home either to play nursemaid. Trying to push the thoughts back he cleared his throat. 

“Marston, John Marston” he said “I'm a... friend of Mr Mason.” 

“Nice meeting ya Mr Marston” Lisa answered “I'm happy to see that Mr Mason gets visitors... his room has seemed so lonely.”

Silence fell between them, long enough to allow him to feel guilt. Perhaps he should have visited sooner but he had neither the energy nor time. The ranch wouldn't care of itself and there were precious few moments he could spend away without raising Abigail's suspicions higher than they were. As he took a gander at her demeanour he felt surprised that she did not hold a harsh or judgemental look. 

“He doesn't talk much about friends or anything of the kind” the young woman continued, as if their conversation had never been interrupted “but I've heard him anguish about someone he's looking for.” 

Against his own wishes, John froze in place. His breath seemed to slow to a crawl as he tried his best to maintain the appearance that nothing was wrong. Inside the avalanche of thoughts had already started. Was Albert blabbering about the dreams? The way she had spoken of it, it could not be out of intention. Yet it hadn't really been of intention when he himself had heard about them had it? 

“'that so?” he mumbled, his thoughts doing their best to come up with a solution to an impossible problem. 

“It's possibly just dreams but he seems so distraught about them, even when he's awake” Lisa answered, a moment of silent hesitation coming over her before she continued “you know of someone named Arthur, Mr Marston?” 

“I do, he is... I mean, was, a common friend.” 

Having Arthur's name uttered in the room seemed to weight the air down further. It had already been hard enough to breath and John found himself struggling on the inside to maintain a steady inhale. So he had been talking about it? He could not help but to make a bitter remark in his mind of how that was just lovely. Even more things that could weigh his mind down. 

“Say miss, you wouldn't happen to... ya know... have some dreams too?” 

At the very second the last word came out, he regretted it deeply. His thoughts were berating him left and right about how wonderfully “smooth” he was when it came to communication. The questioning gaze he was granted by the young lady only cemented these opinions. Social elegance was at least one thing he could never be put on trial for. 

“We all dream, don't we?” she answered, stifling a little giggle, the corner of her mouth still twitching. 

“True that” John answered, gritting his teeth together not to accidentally give any bitter remarks “'just meant if... well... being around someone with Mr Mason's condition...”

“Last time I had a gander, nightmares are not contagious Mr Marston.” 

As she responded, he watched her raise up and the worried look in her eyes sent another shiver of discomfort over his back. Her attention was wholly on him and that was a state he had never fancied. To be studied, dissected with a judgemental gaze, as if someone was trying to gaze into what little remains of a soul he had, brought him nothing but agony.

“Are you alright Mr Marston? You look quite exhausted.” Lisa spoke “I could ask the doctor if...”

“Won't be needed” he snapped back, quicker than he knew he should “beg pardon Miss, meant nothing bad by it.” 

Out of habit he tugged the hat back on, lowering it until he felt it hit the top of his ear. Giving a final look towards the bed, his heart wrenching as he could see Albert move all so slightly in his sleep, he tried to force a smile. Despite not being able to see himself, John already knew that it looked far from natural. 

“I've taken enough of your time Miss” he continued “thank you kindly for looking after Mr Mason.” 

Moving over towards the door, he felt the guilt gnawing in the back of his mind and, mostly to sooth his own thoughts, he added a sombre: “I'll make sure to come visit soon.”.

~~~

Though Albert knew he could not be certain, he felt convinced that the snowfall had picked up. Reaching his hands out before him, he saw a few large flakes land onto his skin, melting upon contact. It was a numbing cold yet it was not enough to shake him out of his slumber. For how long had he been asleep by now? All he knew was that this manor had started to feel far more like reality than when he was awake. 

The voice of the small girl interrupted his trail of thoughts, beckoning him forward. She had been his only companion, their communication little more than hand gestures yet he had come to treasure her. At several instances she had attempted to talk to him, her words making no sense and each attempt leaving her with a soft yet saddened expression. They were together yet they were still alone. 

Walking the halls had seemed so much worse than before. Every so often, he had sworn that he heard those loud footsteps again. Whenever it happened it would send his heart racing, his mind crumbling and it would only be helped by pushing forward, away from whatever corridor or room he had been lead through. Every minute that passed in which he had not encountered the aggressive man, he counted a blessing; 

Following along with the little one, Albert turned his head to gaze upon a large tree that stood in the middle of the open room. Its dead branches stretched wide and high, obscuring some of the dark skies above. The architectural choice was quite marvellous and, for a split second, he entertained his own tired mind with the thought of how beautiful it must be in spring and summer time. He was well aware he would never see it, the night and winter was endless in this dream. A cold husk of what had once been a marvellous piece of architectural art. 

Continuing his walk, he set eyes onto the small girl as she stopped before a set of double doors. Though it looked little for the world, Albert felt his heart pinched in his chest. A strange sensation of comfort and dread crept over him. Behind those doors? Was that what he was feeling? Could it possibly be that the journey was coming to an end? Those were thoughts he had rarely paid any mind as their only purpose would be to hurt him further. He had made peace with the thought that the only escape was confrontation. It was either finding Arthur or perish. 

Drawing in a long breath he stepped forward, putting his hand onto the door yet stopping before he had the chance to push it open. The small child, who tended to stick right next to his side, remained standing by a lantern. In the blue shine that sipped through the paper screen, he thought he eyes looked sadder than ever before. 

“Come now” he tried, giving a faint smile, waving all so gently “we need to keep going.” 

Surprise grabbed a hold of his mind as he watched her shake her head, averting her eyes. It was a dismissive gesture and one that caught him completely off guard. Though he could not tell for how long she had accompanied him, she had never before taken up such an attitude. Taking a step forward, he felt even more bewildered as she once more shook her head, speaking to him in her native tongue that was as foreign to him as his own speech must have been to her. 

Albert allowed himself to stop for a moment. To listen to the wind and the crackling and creaking from the foundation of the manor. His eyes trailed over towards the massive doors and back onto the little girl. With every turn of his head he felt his mind slowly straightening itself out until reaching a calm state. It was such a strange sensation that he felt himself short of breath, just for a second. Tranquillity. 

“You can't lead me further now... can you?” 

Though he knew speech was in vain, he uttered the words, more for himself than anything else. He was certain that he was simply imagining it but in the corner of his eye, she seemed to give a nod.

“I need to confront him alone” Albert mumbled “he's... behind these doors... and I need to talk to him.” 

Silence claimed the air once more. It was unlike any other time he had spent in this manor. While it still filled him with dread and worries, there now came the realisation that it would soon be over. He could finally see the person he had chased like a mad man. Finally put an end to the dreams. Finally get to say what had been plaguing his mind for so long. 

Hesitation grabbed him for just a second before he moved up to the small girl's side. He took a moment to study her and in return she seemed to stare back into his very soul. It was a sad glance, one full of regret and pain. He wished he could make it go away, wished he could bring her the peace of mind that any child deserved yet he knew it was impossible. Stopping for a few seconds, his compassion won over his irrational fear of breaking social protocol. Gently Albert sunk down onto his knees, tugging the little one into a hug. She was cold to the touch, He knew the implication of it yet choose to ignore it for the few seconds he held her. 

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” 

They were by no means perfect words yet they were good enough for their departure. Raising to his feet once more, he watched how she followed him with her sad glance, only breaking their eye contact once he had to turn for the door. Putting his hands onto them, he felt compelled to turn about once more yet managed to keep that need down. Using his entire bodyweight, he pushed the doors open. 

The only noise that broke through the silence before him was the loud creaking of the door. Stepping forward, Albert found himself marvelling at the inner courtyard before him. Many nights he had wandered the manor but first now was he able to get a scope on how massive it truly was. The walls stretched high towards the sky, allowing him a faint glimpse of the moon that quickly became engulfed in heavy clouds. Soft snow was falling down onto the paved path ahead of him. It was drawn towards a central point, a set of doors which filled his heart with a mix of relief and utter terror. A large wooden structure stood before the doorway, the red colour standing out vividly against the muted hue of the manor's wall. In his subconscious he felt that most certainly this was not the first time he had seen such a construction yet he could not recall what to call it. 

Drawing in a long breath, he was overcome with the sensation that time had stopped. The air around seemed to stiffen, all noise muffled like his own steps down the few stairs. His body seemed to move on its own accord, drawing further ahead. Albert felt his pulse rising, the only fully audible sound to accompany him. His eyes remained locked onto the door right ahead. It was his goal. How he could be so certain was beyond his mind's capability but he was certain. A few more steps was all it would take. 

A low rumbling caused him to stop, freezing in place like a deer alerted to the steps of a hunter. With a rising sensation of dread, he watched the large doors slide open, almost effortlessly. Little by little, his body seemed to grow numb. His flight response seemed to betray him as he could do little more than watch the frame of a person become visible through the darkness beyond the gate. 

It was the figure of a woman. Long strains of hair laid over her shoulders, her pale skin adorned with a tattoo work that he found as impressive as unsettling. Her chest laid bare to the cold climate yet her stride onto the frozen ground told him she was not bothered. Even though they were still so far apart, Albert could not shake the sensation that her eyes were locked onto him. 

As the distance between them shrunk, his mind slowly filled with words. Thoughts? Dreams? Perhaps nothing more than the ravings of a madman? There was no way for him to tell if the words were his own or those of some unseen force. They washed over him, hard like the waves of the sea crashing towards the hard stone banks. He had left him. Abandoned him. Never been of any use. Always needing but never giving. A coward. A damned fool. 

For each step the woman took, the noise inside of Albert's mind seemed to raise in volume. Repeating endlessly. A damned void full of nothing but thoughts that weighed immeasurable amounts. Despite his breath stifling in his throat, he dared to seek her gaze. Though his field of vision seemed to have slivered down to almost nothing, he managed to make out her eyes. At the moment he managed to get a glance at them, he thought to himself that they shone like stars. 

Darkness. An overwhelming sensation of sinking deep into a swamp he would never be able to climb out of. For a short moment the thought crossed his mind that perhaps it was for the best. Just maybe the struggle had not been worth it. A rest in the eternal void was pray tell better than the trudge he had gone through.

As Albert's eyes started to weigh heavy, threatening to close for what he could only hope would be the final time, another sensation broke through the endless thoughts. Warmth. A grasp on his shoulders, so strong he jolted him right back. With a gasp his head bobbed forward. Only by pure chance did he miss the woman's face yet he took note of how she did not flinch at all. She stood tall and silent. Watching. Waiting. 

“It wasn't my fault.” 

Those were the first words he managed to utter. His legs were shaking yet he fought hard to keep his tone steady. His sentence had left him before he had managed to process it properly. This left them in silence, him and the tattooed woman. 

“I wish things were different” Albert continued, astonished at the swelling feeling of bravery “I wish I could have helped but it wasn't my fault.” 

Slowly the woman's head tilted, just a few inches to one side and then back. Albert himself struggled to even keep standing, clinging onto this newfound courage. 

“I want too see him, there's something I must tell him.” 

A long silence followed, not a gesture from either of them. As his mind started to wonder if the woman had even understood at all, he watched her take a soft step to his side, brushing past him and continuing her walk back the way he had come. In pure disbelief Albert turned to follow her steps yet she did not return the gesture. Only as the door closed, did his legs finally betray him and he sunk down onto the ground. 

For a moment he remained there, taking in the impressions of what had happened, what words had left his lips. All the while he became painfully aware of the tears that had swelled up in his eyes. So overcome he was by these impressions that he couldn't recall just how long he had spent on the ground. 

It was that sliver of bravery that once more got him up on his feet. While wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, Albert started to stumble forward. He was not guilty. His goal was just ahead. Soon it would all be over. 

~~~


	6. Towards the Manor of Sleep: John Night III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the nightmares keep plaguing John, exhaustion turns into fear and anger. A loss of consciousness only means finding himself in the damned manor again. Yet he knows this time he is close, so close to an answer. Despite a feeling of dread settling over him, he can only do what he knows best, keep fighting. Keep pushing.

With a hand that felt three times heavier than normal, John brushed some of the raindrops off his face. Standing on the porch, he tried to take in the sensation against his skin, finding it as dull as all other impressions. He was no fool, it was the exhaustion that followed any sleep which deprived him from even the simplest of response to the elements. There was no longer any way for him to hide it: even though they all tried to keep up a facade John knew that his state of mind had been noted.

Giving a heaving sigh he moved to lean onto the railing, watching the downpour in a dazed haze. Day to day tasks had started to become almost impossible. Though he had not had any talent for farm work, his performance the past days had been nothing but pathetic. By now he was simply fighting the inevitable. Abigail had already mentioned brining a doctor out to see him. The mere thought made his muscles tense up, knowing that there was no real point in it.

What little shed of pride he had once had crumbled at the thought. Sleep was all his body craved yet what little remained of his mind dreaded it. Every dream would just send him deeper inside of that cursed place and John knew, deep down, that one night he would close his eyes forever, unable to leave. The mere presence of such a thought pinched his heart, as if a knife had been twisted deep into it.

He had been unable to get up in the saddle for the past days, despite wishing to do so. When he had proposed the idea, Abigail had been quick to shoot it down, her protest being in the line of how he couldn't even walk straight, much less ride a horse. Though he agreed he could not shake the feeling of shame, knowing that Albert was stuck in his hospital bed, suffering the exact same fate that he was slowly inching towards.

Giving a dismissive grunt, John turned towards the door. At first his mind tried to scramble for a sense of normality, trying its best to figure out what task he could keep himself occupied with. A sense of defeat once more came over him as he concluded that it was nothing but a few more twitches of his mind. Helpless. That was the sensation that haunted him day as night and he despised it to the very core of his being.

The warm air from inside barely made a difference and his steps felt clunky, as if he was trying to relearn how to even walk in the first place. The very first thought was to head for the bedroom, just to get rid of the clothes that had soaked right through to his skin. In mid stride however, John turned his head, almost as if his subconscious wished to make him aware of his surroundings.

It took far too long for his mind to puzzle it all together. His eyes had settled onto Jack, the scrawny lad seated in one of the large chairs before the fireplace. Almost at the moment John spotted him, he watched the boy turn his head, quickly scrambling to his feet, fingers trying to hide a book behind his back. The gesture was nothing but childish, a trait that he had been reminded by his wife he had passed on to their son. For the short moment it took for John to realise which book Jack was trying to hide, he felt as if his breath remained stuck in his throat. A soft leather cover, far too fancy for any of them to use out here.

“The hell are you doing?” 

His voice came out far more harshly than he would have ever wished for. With just a few steps, he had shortened the distance between them, his pulse beating like a drum inside of his ears. John tried to still himself, tried to pretend that perhaps it was the wrong book? Perhaps he had been mistaken? It was nothing but pathetic self reassurance and as soon as he was right next to the boy he knew that his eyes had not deceived him.

“I... I'm sorry pa, I thought it was...” 

Jack's voice trembled along with his hands as he sheepishly moved the notebook from behind his back. The very sight burned itself into the back of John's mind: that terrible book that he now wished he would have just thrown onto the fire. It contained nothing but the ravings of a madman, a memoir of the slow slip of sanity that he and Albert both shared. A relic that he now cursed himself from holding on to, his thoughts desperately clinging to any sense of sanity that he could muster.

“How much did you read?” 

John snapped his hand out, aiming for the notebook but ending up firmly grasping his son's arm. How did this spread? How did the dreams start? Was it hearing about it? Was it reading notes about it? Or was it Arthur? All air seemed to get stuck inside of his lungs, turning thick as tar and burning inside of his chest.

“I'm really sorry...” Jack blurted out, his voice trembling “I'm sorry pa, I just... it seemed like a nice story... I'm sorry.” 

“For the love of god, boy, how much did you read?” 

His other hand moved, grasping the youngster's other arm, holding onto it as if life itself depended of it. Through the haze that covered his mind, his eyes meet up with Jack's, reading an immense fear that seemed to engulf them, tears already hanging thick in his eyelashes. Even through his own frenzy, John was aware that his own voice already carried the heavy cloak that told tears were not far away. All that escaped the boy's throat was however stuttering, no real words just the failed attempts at some.

“How much did you read?” John repeated, his fingers digging in deeper into Jack's shirt “answer me, how much did you read?” 

Another row of stuttering, the only audible words making it out being a row of apologies. Slowly, John became aware of himself half shaking the boy, as if this would cause the words to come out more clearly. Jack knew Arthur. There was an imprint. A small speck of dust that now felt more like a piece of glass stuck behind one's eyelid. A common factor and the final straw for his own sanity. All he wanted was to scream, to get all of the anger and fear out. Deep down he had perhaps accepted his own fate but this was another step he could not possibly tolerate. How could he possibly protect his son from a dream? How could he protect anyone from that cursed manor?

“John, what are you doing?” 

He felt his shoulders grabbed, yanking him backwards so violently that John found himself almost stumbling onto his own ass. Feeling his eyes stinging with tears, he made a half hearted attempt to wipe them away. Standing by Jack's side was Abigail, her fingers running through the boy's hair, holding him close and trying to reassure him. There still came nothing but broken apologies from the youngster's lips, getting drowned out by sobs and a few hiccups.

John felt his shoulders falling in defeat, his thoughts slowly drowning into nothing but a noise. Somewhere he felt a chill run down his spine, a horrid omen. Trying to struggle against the sensation of simply dropping to his knees, he took a few steps forward. Though he became aware of his wife saying something, he could no longer make out any words. With what little energy there was left inside of him, he flung his arms out, managing to hold them both. For a few short moments, he drew it all in, how tiny they both felt under his arms, the smell they carried on them, Abigail's hair tickling against his throat.

As his eyes slowly started to close, he was struck by the sensation that he was slipping: not so much down a slope but rather into a warm bath. Voices blended together into an incoherent chanting somewhere above him. And then there was nothing but darkness.

~~~

Air as thick as soup seemed to surround him as John came once more to his senses. It was not what he wished to yet he was more than aware that these dreams cared little for his personal thoughts. Trying to draw in a deep breath he gazed at the massive courtyard before him. Above laid nothing but a darkness as deep as an abyss. The large walls of the manor raised right into it, disappearing out of his view and making him feel like the most insignificant being in the world.

His legs shook like those of a newborn calf as he stepped forward, descending the few staircase steps that had elevated him from the stone ground. Two massive red pillars stood ahead, a carved beam resting over them. It was an architectural structure he could not phantom. Quicker than he thought possible, his thoughts reminded him that there had not been much around this estate that had made any sort of sense to him. What his eyes came to concentrate on was the decorative doors behind the pillars. Just gazing upon it made his stomach turn. This was no more than a mocking response that told him one thing: he was getting close.

In a vain attempt to regain any control over himself, he attempted to straighten his back as he started to approach it. His footsteps echoed in a manner that brought nothing but terror to his mind. It only enhanced the feeling of being insignificant, small and so terribly helpless. At that moment, he could not make up his mind on which was worse, having one of those spirits breathing down his back or being all by himself. Almost at the moment the thought crossed his mind, he threw a glance over his shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing that no one was there.

Reaching his hand out for the door, he found his fingers trembling. He could not phantom if it was anticipation or dread at what new hell scape would welcome him. The desire for it all to end was stronger than ever yet he was haunted by the thought that all of his struggling would be for naught. Chasing memories inside of his dreams, slowly slipping deep into the insanity that returned night after night. Softly he leaned forward, resting his forehead against the door. Trying to breath was still a struggle but one he at least attempted while his mind raced.

Perhaps these were his last vain death twitches. The struggle against the tide would possibly bring no closure. Maybe it was all meant to end like this, with him finally sinking into the darkness of this dream, never to awake again. Feeling his chest tensing, John made another attempt to deepen his breath, feeling it a struggle. What would it mean to dream forever? Was it the grip of death that had so long clawed at his heels and now finally caught him? Would there be nothing but these corridors forever?

With a jolting motion, he snapped his head up, giving a light curse. The longer he spent thinking about it the more time he wasted. If this was how it was meant to be, then by god he would at least go down fighting. As the thought crossed his mind, he pushed the door open, having to put almost all of his weight onto it to make the act possible.

A faint smell of iron was the first thing that he picked up on. The room before him looked, if possible, even more foreign than anything before. On opposite sides of the walls laid two massive stone tablets, both which held bundles large enough to be another human being. Through them several nails had been driven and John quickly repelled his own curious thought as to what would be underneath the fabric. Right ahead was a small table on which several objects had been aligned, candles adorning its side, spreading a soft glow in the room. Behind this structure were large screens which allowed him to glimpse another massive door.

This sight once more caused his stomach to turn, his breath shallow in his throat. So close. He could almost taste it in the air. Just a few steps further. Without even realising it, he had already taken a few steps towards the walled off structure. Arthur had to be beyond there. How he was so convinced of the idea, John could not understand but he simply knew that he was. Drawn like a moth to a flame, he reached his hand out to grasp the screen.

It took more tugs than he was willing to admit before he fully realised that the door was firmly stuck. In pure disbelief, John looked upon it, his knuckles turning pale from the force he tried to put into it. Giving an shout of frustration, he slammed his fist onto the screen, finding it as unwilling to cooperate as the slide door itself.

“Damn it!” 

Spinning around, he raised a hand to his face, stroking over it in a futile attempt to still his anger. The door was right there, it was where he needed to go. With contempt, he gave another glance to that damned screen that refused to cooperate with him. He couldn't possibly go back. There was nothing back there for him to find. Forward was the only option.

“To hell with all of this!” 

Putting all the force into it, John turned his attention towards the small table, giving it a kick so resounding the walls almost appeared to shake. The only thing he was granted was the incredible pain of realising it was not made out of wood but rather stone material. Bending forward, cursing to himself, a flash of light hit his eyes. The strength of it felt almost like gazing into the sun on a warm day, causing him to raise a hand to shield it off. The soft sound of something fragile falling to the floor convinced him to peek gently between his fingers.

A mirror, just about the size of both his palms, had slid from the table and landed onto a worn pillow on the floor. By now the reflection of the candles had long since left its surface, making him able to actually study it. Moving forward, he felt a deep pinch inside of his heart, as if even looking upon the mirror was stirring something within his mind. Reaching his hand out, he hesitated longer than he wished to admit. As he slowly sunk to his knees, he spent a few seconds with his fingers still stretched out, his gaze glued onto the mirror.

The handicraft was marvellous, that even he could appreciate. It all seemed hand carved, etched deeply into the decorative frame. Its surface had been polished to perfection, not one little blemish showing up. While sitting there, John felt another thought entering into his mind. This was not part of the interior, it didn't belong to this place. It belonged to him. His hand acting on its own, he finally let his fingertips slide over the mirror frame.

This very touch brought with it a tidal wave of emotions. All at once, a mix of memories and thoughts came rolling over him, the force of which caused John to jerk back. Arthur. His shoulders being grabbed, a hat shoved onto his head, a last glance. Being sent away. Being abandoned. No, not abandoned? Yes he was but the memory refused to adjust with this knowledge. It repeated. Over and over, the same scene being rolled out as if he was forced to sit through the same film, no end in sight.

“... That's not it...” 

His voice didn't sound right. It was too small and lacked all the force he usually put behind it. Reaching forward once more, John grasped the mirror firmly, holding it like if it had been the holy grail itself. It did little to change things, the memory staying the same. The strong hands, the notion of losing a brother, the desire to just scream and beg until he would be unable to do so.

It was first when his body seemed to grow rigid that he was made aware of a presence in the room. A few droplets of cold sweat had started to drip down his forehead, his fingers holding the mirror in a death grip. Breathing. Another than his own. The urge to turn around haunted his mind yet John found himself unable to answer this command. Though he could not phantom how, his thoughts made him aware that if he did, it would all be over. Trying to still his shaky breath, he let his eyes slide down onto the mirror, peering onto its reflection.

The figure of a woman was what met him, standing over his shoulder, not moving a muscle. Her skin was covered in tattoos, leaping all the way up onto her face. Though the darkness engulfed most of her, John became aware of her eyes, piercing through the gloom of the room. There was no explanation for the next thought that entered his mind yet he came to trust it without question. She was awaiting something.

As he sat there, hearing her soft breath and his own mixing, the only real noises in the entire room, his mind seemed to slowly sink into an unfathomable abyss. One which threatened to swallow him whole and he almost welcomed it. If it meant an end to the dream, then perhaps it was simply the right thing to do.

Her breath drew closer, an act that made John's muscles tense yet he refused to even turn his head. From out of the corner of his eye, he watched her fingers move forward. A sensation of acceptance came over him. If this was the end, at least he had taken it with some grace and posture.

Much to his surprise her fingers moved onto his arms, reaching the mirror. Words were whispered towards his ear, once more in that language he couldn't understand. Managing to keep his own lips closed, he instead looked upon the mirror. While at first nothing but their reflections bounced back, his mind soon became overpowered with the memories once more, repeating in a way that his mind hated and his heart refused to acknowledge.

“... That's not true...” John mumbled, his voice trembling “... he... he abandoned me...” 

The woman's pale arms rested towards his, her fingers locked in a gentle grip around his wrists. Once more she spoke and though the words were foreign, John felt as if he understood. Perhaps only parts of it but he could comprehend her gesture. Turning once more to the mirror, he held it tightly. Within it, he could feel the memories, all of them. How it had been to have a brother, one that he had never appreciated as much as he should have and hadn't felt as acknowledged by as he would have wished for.

Had he been abandoned? For what he considered the first time in his entire life, he reflected upon it. Yes? It had been what he had told himself, what he had told Albert yet now there was a heavy cloak of doubt over it. The torched light in Arthur's eyes those days before. All the coughing and wheezing, his entire being slowly crumbling before the eyes of the entire camp. Had he been abandoned?

A few tears did escape John's eyes as he held on tightly to the mirror, almost as if bidding it farewell. As the memories passed his mind, they seemed to slowly become more clear, a notion of acceptance following in their wake. It was the flow of time. “ _Some trees flourish, others die. Some cattle grow strong, others are taken by wolves. Some men are born rich enough and dumb enough to enjoy their lives. Ain't nothing fair. You know that_ ”. His own words echoing and for the first time resonating within his own heart. 

Raising his arms, he felt the woman's pale fingers resting on them, her gentle breathing the only encouragement he could expect. With all the force he had, he brought it down against the stone table, the noise of it shattering making his very core tremble. As the small pieces fell to the ground, shimmering in the faint light, the last doubt in his mind finally left.

Silence remained. One that he had never heard before and felt certain he would never hear again. Looking down upon his hands he found the woman's arms now absent. Turning, nothing but a large empty room was there to greet him. His eyes stung and he felt his lower lip trembling, like that of a child who had just received a severe scolding.

In that silence, John allowed himself to fall onto the floor and weep.


End file.
